A Reflection for Women’s Day (727 words)

I often see an old beggar woman sitting in the same spot along the busy main road near my home. Her position is constant, though she moves to the other side of the road in the evening to escape the harsh rays of the sun. She must be around seventy, though her frail figure suggests she could be much older. Emaciated and shriveled, with hair that hasn’t seen oil in years, she crouches silently on a torn mat with a tattered bed sheet underneath. Her dimmed vision and leprosy-ravaged fingers make her a pitiable sight, yet she never pleads for alms. Despite her miserable condition, she exudes an innate dignity that transcends her poor circumstances.

It struck me that dignity isn’t associated with wealth or status. Even a beggar can hold her head high, while the rich may act without grace. Coins tossed onto her worn newspaper spread opposite her and were gathered with trembling fingers and dropped into a rusty tin box. There was never a desperate plea for alms —just the silent acceptance of what came her way. Even in her hardship, her quiet strength touched me.

One day, I saw her completely drenched in a sudden downpour, sitting there unmoving, without seeking any shelter. The next morning, I brought her an old unused umbrella to give her shelter from both rain and sun. She accepted it coolly and uttered no words to thank me but only lifted her head with what might have been a smile or acknowledgement. Every time I passed her corner, I made it a habit to leave a coin. Somehow, she always seemed to sense my approach from my steps, raising her head in gratitude. It amazed me how the body compensates when some faculties are lost—her awareness was sharp, her hearing keen.

Moved by her sorry plight, I asked my wife if she could spare a few saris for her. Without the slightest hesitation, my wife gave me several, and I eagerly set off to give them. But, to my disappointment, the beggar woman was not in her usual spot. Days passed, and she remained absent, filling me with concern. I feared she might have fallen ill or met with an accident. When she finally reappeared, there was great relief, and I rushed home to collect the saris.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I told her as I gave her the saris. Her eyes widened, and she said, “Sami (Sir), I don’t need more than two. I have no place to keep them. I sleep on the platform, and this small bag contains all I own. One spare is enough.”

As I hesitated, she added softly, “You will see on my left, a young woman sitting nearby. She’s an orphan; her mother passed away recently, and she’s left with nothing. She is troubled by wicked men when night falls, and she comes to me for protection. Daily, I stay awake to keep her safe and shout them away. Please, give her the other saris, and if you can, I would beg you to find her a secure place. I will be forever indebted to you.”

Her words left me speechless. Here was a woman with nothing, yet her concern was for someone else—an orphan, vulnerable and alone. In that moment, I realized true wealth isn’t measured by what we possess but by the kindness we extend to others. Her generosity and compassion far exceeded my own. This frail beggar woman, with barely enough for herself, stood taller and richer in spirit than I could ever hope to be.

That day was Women’s Day. How fitting, yet ironic, that it was a destitute beggar woman who embodied the strength and compassion we celebrate in women. She reminded me of the famous quote: “A bone to a dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog when you are just as hungry as the dog.”

On Women’s Day, we often honour our women in positions of power and influence, but let us not forget those women who, in their quiet and often unseen ways, show immense strength, resilience, and compassion. This beggar woman, forgotten by society, gave everything she could to protect someone more vulnerable than herself. In her, I saw the true spirit of womanhood—selflessness, dignity, and grace in the face of adversity.